Dempsey and Makepeace: My January Challenge
by xLaramiex
Summary: 1 fic per episode, updated each day in January 2013. Rating may change.
1. s1 e01 A Moment

_I had planned on doing one fic and one pic per episode, but I don't think that would have worked out, so I'm sticking to one fic per episode. I'll be uploading one a day throughout January, and if I have time, there'll be a bonus fic at the end too. So without further ado, here is the first ficlet._

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1.01: Armed and Extremely Dangerous

**A Moment**

There was a moment, when his partner was aiming a gun at him, when Dempsey thought he would die. And despite his quip "life is hard and then you die", he wasn't ready for that. He may recognise that his time would come, but that didn't mean he had to lie down and take it. It was Joey or himself, and Joey was a traitor.

Dempsey had work to do. He knew that he was the only one who knew enough to do something about the corruption in the police force. His badge had always been a source of pride for him, ever since he had earned it as an idealistic young man, and there was no way he was going to let someone else's greed tarnish his joy in his work.

So Dempsey shot his partner.

Joey took Dempsey's trust with him when he died. Any last trace of naivete was lost from Dempsey's mind. He recognised that, even among police officers, not everyone had the same ideals of harmony and peace as himself. Police officers were no longer worthy of automatic trust and respect; they were fallible, just as everyone else was, and Dempsey didn't know how to deal with that.

When he was young, he had seen police officers as a bit of a nuisance, interfering with his and his friend's games. As he grew into a lanky late-teen, he began to understand that they were trying to help. They were trying to stop kids like him turning to drugs and violence. And one day, he decided, he would fight for the innocent too.

Dempsey never questioned that he had done the right thing in shooting his partner. But that didn't mean he had to like it.


	2. s1 e02 Work Comes Calling

_Short...so short...sorry._

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**Work Comes Calling**

When the doorbell rang, Dempsey had just got out of the shower. He didn't bother to dress as he went to answer it. He was not impressed to see Makepeace, looking as unimpressed as he did. He had only been in the country for a few days, and already work was coming to find him.

Reluctantly, he let the attractive policewoman in (he didn't like her very much but that didn't mean he was blind). In any case, this presented a golden opportunity to have some fun, though he wasn't quite sure how yet.

The state of his living room was a bit embarrassing, even to Dempsey. He lifted his arms a little in silent apology before offering the sergeant a coffee.

Makepeace glanced around his messy flat, cursing Spikings for making her work with this ridiculous American, and telling herself she wasn't checking out his naked back, just a little (not at all, honestly. Her eyes just passed over that way).

She sat on the sofa he cleared for her and accepted the coffee, though really she preferred tea, prepared to wait for him to get dressed. When Dempsey swung the chair round and suggested they talk, she knew what he was going to say. She had heard it before. Every sexist male police officer she had ever worked with had trotted out this speech at some point. ("I know you're a woman, but I can look past that. I won't hold it against you," her first partner had said, in all seriousness.) She fought to remain impassive, resisting the urge to slap him.

The speech was nothing new. Walking out wearing nothing but a towel over his shoulder was rather more original.


	3. s1 e03 Coffee Or A Shower?

1.03 Lucky Streak

**Coffee or a shower?**

As Harry stopped the car outside Dempsey's flat, he turned to her and said, "Thanks for the lift. You wanna come in for a cup of coffee, or a shower?"

He knew she wouldn't, he just enjoyed winding Makepeace up and wanted to see what her reaction would be. He loved breaking into her calm exterior already; the visit to Harry's informant, the woman who worked as a prostitute, had already shown him how much fun it could be. He had got the impression that Harry had hoped to show him that she wasn't just a naive, spoilt, rich aristocrat - that she knew how the real world worked too. So his acting more at ease with her than she was had really wound her up, even aside from the implication that he had been enjoying himself rather too much during work.

To his disappointment, Makepeace remained composed. He wondered if he could take her assertion that she wasn't 'easy' as an invitation for a little friendly persuasion... He held her gaze, not giving up. If he had been honest with himself, which he never was, he was seeking the company. He missed his friends, and had not yet met anyone he wanted more than a quick beer with. An evening of mutual insults with a beautiful woman looked rather enjoyable.

"Go on, move," Harry prompted.

Dempsey pretended to misunderstand and move in for a kiss, but as Makepeace reverted to her 'work' voice and told him to find more information, he realised he had taken it too far. He fixed her with his best smile in place of an explanation or apology. "I'll get it." He repeated his offer of the shower, hoping that would make it clear that he was joking, and as she shot him down he grinned at the fact that Makepeace could give as good as she got.


	4. s1 e04 Flying High

_It's even shorter than 1.02 sorrysosorry. Also it's another conversation in a car... how original of me. Not._

_I'm sorry for not keeping up with everyone's stories. I'll be having a big catch-up soon. A big THANK YOU to everyone who reviews, it really does encourage me to write more & better. Plus it's just lovely to hear from you._

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1.04 Given To Acts Of Violence

**Flying High**

After successfully landing a plane, Harry was faced with the less challenging but no less hazardous task of letting Dempsey drive her home.

"Well there's no way I'm going on a plane for a while," she said when they were a few streets away from her house. The whole ordeal had put her off planes.

"Not even if I'm flyin' it?"

"Especially not if you're flying it."

"I didn't see you complainin' when you collapsed into my arms," Dempsey retorted irritably.

"No, well, thank you."

"No problem... You gotta admit I took you to the heights of ecstasy there, babe." Dempsey flashed her a wicked grin, making Harry roll her eyes.

"I nearly crashed," she pointed out dryly.

"Nah, you had everythin' under control," Dempsey said as he stopped outside Harry's house. He turned to smile at her. "Don't worry, you can always count on me to get ya home safe."


	5. s1 e05 The School Run

_Okay so somehow this became the longest one I've written so far. That's not to say it's the best one. It was pretty interesting to write, though._

_It's looking like there won't be any fic tomorrow, I just have no idea what to write. I'll upload a placeholder chapter in case I get an idea later._

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1.05 Hors De Combat

**The School Run**

Debbie spent an enjoyable day in school talking to her friends, making a snowman out of blutac and not listening to anything the teacher said. At 2 o'clock, the teacher had given up on the class and wheeled in the TV and video player on the trolley to let them watch a cartoon about creation for the last hour, meaning they all talked. All in all, she was having a pretty good day.

When she got out of school, things got even better, because her granddad was there to pick her up! Granddad made her laugh and always had cake at his house. Debbie grabbed him for a hug. She grinned as granddad took her hand to take her across the road, thinking about how she would tell him how God had said "LET THERE BE LIGHT".

Debbie and granddad waited for a van to pass by before they stepped off the kerb, but suddenly someone jumped out of the back and pushed granddad over. Debbie was terrified; she screamed at the top of her voice, torn between staying with her granddad and running away as fast as she could. The man grabbed her and bundled her into the back of the van. Where was granddad? She couldn't see him!

Another man jumped into the van and it drove away with a roar of the engine. Debbie screamed again, wanting them to leave alone, but the man in the white jacket cuffed her over the back of her head. "Leave off, squit, we've got you now. Everything's gonna be fine if you do just what we say."

"Where's granddad?"

"You'll see your granddad again soon just as long as you, and he, behave yourselves."

Debbie glared at him with big eyes. "I don't like you," she said.

The man in the black clothes snorted a laugh. "We're not that fond of you either but you're stuck here now so belt up."

After a few minutes of driving, the van screeched to a halt. The man in the black clothes picked Debbie up and took her out of the van; Debbie fought him all the way, squirming in his grip to try and escape. She was too small and light for it to make a difference, and the man sat her in the front seat of a car.

"Wait for the signal," the other man warned and he closed the door.

Debbie immediately tried the door handle on the passenger side door, but it was locked. She huffed in anger, folding her arms and scowling. "If you don't let me out I'm going to scream and scream."

"You'll keep your mouth closed if you wanna see your granddad later," the man retorted.

Debbie was taken to a house near the docks, where she was given a drink then left in a room for several hours, wallowing in her own fear and loneliness. At long last, the same man in the black clothes entered the room, grabbed her by the arm and took her to the car. They weren't driving for very long before he stopped next to a big river and lifted her out of the car. As they walked along, Debbie finally saw granddad and called out to him. She wanted to run to him but the man was holding her arm so tightly it hurt.

When he finally pushed Debbie towards her granddad, she nearly stumbled, and spared a moment to glare at him. The man walking towards her was scary, and she kept an eye on him, but hefore she could stop him he had grabbed her around the middle. She wanted granddad to make everything better!

There was a loud bang and the man holding her suddenly fell over. As Debbie fell on top of him she saw that there was a hole in the side of his head, with blood coming out, and he looked as though he had fallen asleep. What was happening?

Granddad shouted and started running towards her, but then there was another bang and he fell over just like the other man. He looked like he hurt himself so Debbie ran to kneel beside him. "Granddad!"

There was lots of noise and people running, but Debbie stayed with her granddad, wanting him to tell her that everything would be alright. But granddad groaned like he was really hurt and Debbie was scared for him. He needed mummy to make him better like she always made Debbie better when she fell off the swing. Debbie hugged granddad like mummy hugged her when she was hurt.

Two men came and pulled her off granddad. They led her to a police car and said they would take her home to mummy.

She hoped granddad would be alright. She had never got to tell him that God said "Let there be light."


	6. s1 e06

_I couldn't think of anything to write for 1.06 Nowhere to Run, so this is just a placeholder chapter in case I think of something later._


	7. s1 e07 One Shot

_Strangely, I'm finding it easier to write thoughts for Dempsey than for Harry; despite the fact that she says a lot less, she actually seems to hide less._

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1.07 Makepeace, Not War

**One Shot**

As Dempsey sat in the car, gun in hand, he was nervous. Not that he would have admitted it to anyone, had they asked, especially not to Harry. But there was a tightness in his chest so constricting that he could hardly breathe as he waited to shoot the woman he had, despite himself, learned to respect over the scant couple of weeks he had known her.

As Makepeace sat in her house, t-shirt in hand, she was pretty nervous too. Had anyone asked, she probably would have denied it. But as she waited to let a man she had only known for a few weeks point a loaded gun at her, she was unable to think about anything else.

Dempsey thought about the war. This waiting felt like that; plenty of time to consider what you were about to do. And all the while your heart was pounding, the blood was rushing in your ears, you were cold on the inside and sweating on the outside. The only difference was that his own life was not in danger.

Harry changed into the t-shirt and waited. Eternity seemed to fly by, at once an age and a moment. When her and Dempsey's agreed time arrived, she steeled herself, opened the front door, and stepped outside. Instinct shouted at her to curl up, or run away, but she had to be convincing.

Opening the window, Dempsey resigned himself to what he had to do, and took very careful aim, frowning in fear and licking his lips in an expression of diverted anxiety. If he was off by a single inch... He clenched the gun more firmly.

The sound of the gun split the air, and Makepeace fell to the ground. Dempsey strained to see if he had got it right, but all he could see was his partner rolling down the hard stone steps. He dropped the gun and jumped out of the car to collect the t-shirt and make sure she was okay. To his utmost relief, there was no blood around her. He cracked a joke about her acting skills to reassure himself, pulled the t-shirt over Makepeace's head and ran.

Harry felt someone moving her hair, then heard Spikings' voice saying "Get a blanket, Chas."

Back in the car, Dempsey found the hole in the shirt. Then he noticed the blood. What had he done? He rubbed the red substance between his fingers, then to his horror an ambulance blared past. He watched it go, hardly daring to breathe.

By the time they reached the house, he had managed to gather himself, but the news report, the view of Spikings announcing the death of an unnamed officer, brought his doubts back to the surface. The plan had, after all, been to fake her death, but this seemed all too realistic.

Dempsey had never been so glad to have a gun pointed at him as he was in that dark parking lot. His lewd words covered his relieved smile as he tried to act like he had not been worried. The steak had been a clever touch - it had certainly convinced him. Now if only he could convince himself that he had only been concerned about his aim.


	8. s1 e08 Charlie

_I'm not even apologising for shortness any more. This is just what you get._

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1.08 Blind Eye

**Charlie**

"Dempsey, how many times must I tell you that it is ungentlemanly to hit women?"

"Okay... I'll hold her, you hit her."

Harry had to try very hard not to laugh as they left the car and went inside to question Mrs Wilson. Despite his sexist views, Dempsey was very good at making her laugh; they shared a similar sense of humour. She would never have chosen him as a partner, and would still be more than happy to swap him for someone else. However, they also shared an unending determination and enthusiasm for their job, and Harry was starting to recognise that his keen criminal mind, so often in tune with her own, could be invaluable when it came to insights into a case.

He seemed to be settling down, too. As time went on, there was more joking and smiling, and much less shouting and scowling. He complimented her more than he insulted her - though some of that came from his libido, and so didn't count. Had it not amused her so much, she could have reported him for sexual harassment. But the truth was, she trusted him - a woman could tell, people said, and Harry's instincts told her that Dempsey was lewd but harmless. That was unless she ever happened to rob a bank; then there was a strong chance that she would get shot.

The dog had been Dempsey's idea, to help Charlie and to make amends for aiming a gun at Mrs Wilson's head. Dempsey rather suited having a kid on his hip, Harry thought. She could imagine him as a teenager, giving rides to younger siblings (did he have younger siblings? She wasn't sure if he had ever said). As he went to get the puppy, Dempsey gave Charlie to Harry.

-:-

She liked children, they could be sweet and sometimes even quite cute. But what she liked even more was handing them over to their parents at the end of the day and getting back to her own peace and quiet.


	9. s1 e09 Pheasants

_I should never have started naming these, it's really hard to think of anything._

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1.09 Cry God For Harry

**Pheasants**

Dempsey felt rather uncomfortable at the pheasant shoot. He didn't fit in and he wasn't sure he approved of the concept anyway; it seemed treacherous, somehow, to tend the birds from youngsters only to shoot them for no good reason when they were fully grown. His sense of sticking out like a sore thumb was not eased by the fact that Harry looked so god-damned comfortable, arm-in-arm with her father, as though she had been there all her life - which, he reminded himself, she had.

Harry, on the other hand, was enjoying herself. It wasn't a lifestyle that she had any desire to keep for an extended time, but it was lovely to spent time with her father and amusing to watch Dempsey looking like a fish out of water who was trying to swim in the air instead. It was quite reassuring to see that there were places he could be wrong-footed, though it did not affect his ability to flirt.

She did love her father's house. It was the place she had grown up in, the place she still tended to think of as 'home' in that warm-embrace, Christmas-dinner sort of way. It was the home of most of her memories of her mother, and most of those of her childhood. Weekends here were wonderful, when she could ride out through the grounds or sit beside the ornamental fountain with a book for hours on end.

But for all that, she wouldn't leave her own house. She wouldn't sacrifice her independence, the excitement of her job, the buzz of London's nightlife, for the sake of summer fêtes, shooting parties and constant guests. It just wasn't worth it.


	10. s1 e10 Sir Lionel

_Oh my gosh, my writing style is so inconsistent._

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1.10 Judgement

**Sir Lionel**

"Bye, Judge."

Harry went to stand by the river, overwhelmed with her emotions. As Dempsey came to stand beside her she rounded on him. "'Evening Judge? Goodbye Judge?'" she sneered. Dempsey just looked at her. "When you know a high court judge personally, then it's possible, just possible to address them as 'sir' whoever-he-is." She wasn't angry about that really, and she knew that very well. Dempsey may have used the wrong word in there but he had been surprisingly respectful

She was angry because a woman in the prime of her life could be raped and murdered within hours of Harry seeing her, and yet Harry had no idea how to find the person responsible. She was angry because her best friend was dead and no amount of police work would bring her back. She was angry because it was easier to express than the sharp, acidic aching in her chest.

To his credit, Dempsey remained relatively calm, managing to keep himself under control for both of their sakes. His frustration at the event was focused on the man he saw as obstructing their investigation, their attempts to right the wrong as far as could be possible.

"She was my best friend! For god's sake, why can't you understand that, you stupid bastard?" For a long moment Harry glared at Dempsey, and he watched as she crumpled, all the fight leaving her. Maybe it had been insensitive to refer to her best friend as a corpse, but he wanted to catch the person who had done it. He wanted to help Makepeace get over the ordeal.

Harry began to sob, the pain overwhelming her embarrassment. Dempsey watched, conflicted between a desire to run far far away and a desire to hold her until she smiled. Not knowing whether Harry would want him to touch her at all made him hesitate, but in the end he put his arms around her gingerly. Nothing he could say would make it better, so he said nothing, just let her cry against his chest in the dark and stroked her blond hair gently with one hand.


	11. s2 e01 Cuisle mo chroi

_There's so much unsaid in this one little scene. I've always liked it, I was gutted when I realised it was missed out on the episode on youtube. Also, it took ages to figure out what cuisle mo chroí means, so I hope you appreciate it. I think this is one of my favourite things I've ever written, certainly for this fandom. And it's a whole 1250 words long!_

_Oh and after I wrote this I continued watching the episode and realised that they actually both have hats. Just pretend there's only the one._

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2.01 Silver Dollar

**Cuisle mo chroí**

It was an obvious choice to do the stakeout as homeless people; who else would have spent their night in a rubbish dump? They parked several streets away and made their meandering way towards the dump. They could not seem in too much of a hurry, in case they were seen. Dempsey had worn a black hat that someone had abandoned in the laundrette a few months ago. He rather liked it, but Harry had snorted with laughter when he put it on. He had adjusted it decisively on his head and wore it anyway, just to annoy her (or amuse her).

The night was clear; there was a sharpness in the air that spoke of a cold but dry night to come. Makepeace led the way through a wasteland of discarded tins, mattresses, and car tyres, feeling like an ant in the face of all this human detritus. She and Dempsey settled themselves next to a car shell, and as night closed in around them Dempsey built up a fire from old wardrobes and chests of drawers which they dragged back to their little camp, piled into their own tiny mountain, and gradually fed into the insatiable flames.

It felt, to Harry, like time out from the world. As though they had been granted a few scant hours off from life for them to do with what they willed. Dempsey seemed to feel the same way; there was a certain tension missing from his shoulders.

As he took his place beside Harry, the warmth of the fire creeping through the air, Dempsey wondered what she would look like in his hat. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he was struck by the overwhelming urge to see her in something of his. Never one to deny his urges without good reason, Dempsey took his black hat off and plonked it on her head, trying to remove any meaning from the gesture by doing it completely without ceremony.

Harry frowned at him slightly in confusion, but he just smiled back. "Suits you," he murmured, the vibration of his voice filling the warm bubble created by the fire, then falling away before it could dent the blanket of darkness all around them.

Harry adjusted the hat. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Dempsey stood to add more wood to the fire.

"I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home. And if you don't like me, leave me alone. I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry. And if moonshine don't kill me, I'll live 'til I die," Dempsey sang quietly as he threw on a few pieces and sat back next to Harry, sounding drunk already. He felt it, too; although he knew the few sips he had had to drink were not enough to affect him, there was a warmth in his heart and a liquid quality to his movements that he associated with the second pint of beer or glass of wine. "Ar, what a fine girl ye are."

"To be sure, me darlin'," Harry responded, copying his accent and snuggling into herself. There was something hypnotic about a fire, cracking like a whip and blowing smoke into her eyes to make them sting when the wind was towards them.

"Cuisle mo chroí," Dempsey said.

"What's that?" Harry asked, bemused.

_Pulse of my heart._ "It's Irish."

"What's it mean?"

_Pulse of my heart._ There was great fondness in Dempsey's eyes as he looked at her. (Tell her what it means.) "Some'in friendly."

"Something you learned from your Irish grandmother?"

"Not exactly. It was an old hooker in the Bronx. When I was a uniform cop, pounding the beat, on my way home from my rounds the last place I'd stop was this bar, it was called the Shamrock. I'd pick up my father, take 'im home... Anyway, some hooker would come in, she really liked me, you know. She'd come up and she'd put her arm around me and pull off one of her shoes..." Dempsey put one arm around Harry's shoulders, shuffled closer. "She'd go, 'Ar, bejeesus, a cuisle mo chroí, me feet are killin' me.'" He watched for her reaction, hoping he'd gotten across the tender nature of the words if not their actual meaning. Mirroring her smile, he thought he must have done. (The truth was, it had been his mother, but a story where his mother had taught him the words didn't give them the same meaning.)

(If he kissed her right now, just there on her cheekbone, what would she do? Probably punch him and apply for a transfer.) He looked into the fire to distract himself.

Dempsey became aware that he still had his arm around Harry, and reluctantly he removed it.

Harry was strangely disappointed as they settled back into a silence that might have been awkward, or maybe it was just her. The impulse to just lean into him was very strong. Her heart felt full.

"You know some'in?"

"What?" she asked, when it became clear that he was waiting for her response. She didn't dare look at him.

Dempsey seemed to struggle with his next words. "How come it's easier to relate to you when we're doing these roles?"

Harry laughed softly. (Because he was calmer, and stiller, and quieter.) She looked up at him to test his reaction. (Because both of them were less wired on the tension of the case.) "Maybe because you behave differently." (He was funnier and gentler.)

Dempsey met her eyes. "Yeah," he agreed at last, and in that one syllable there seemed to be an acknowledgement of everything he did that annoyed her, or that was against protocol, or disrespectful. "Maybe you behave differently too." (Almost like she enjoyed his company. He felt less like a lowly servant and more like a friend when the pressure of work was taken away. So much easier to be himself when he was pretending to be someone else.)

They held each other's gaze, but Harry couldn't stop her eyes dropping to his lips. It was more than the fire warming her down to her bones. In the end she had to look away, the moment too intense for her. She watched Dempsey unscrewing the bottle of alcohol. If he held her hand, would he hold on tight to keep her there, or loosely to make her grip back?

"Some'in legal, warm ya up?" he offered, holding out the bottle.

She hadn't missed the double meaning of his 'like an iceberg' comment earlier. "Melt the ice?" she suggested wryly, but took a drink to show him there was plenty underneath the coldness, if he looked.

_You look pretty hot to me, Makepeace,_ Dempsey thought. He opened his mouth to apologise, but the problem was it was true; she could be as cold as anything, sometimes. Instead he took back the bottle and went back to his song, to reassure them both that nothing had changed.

"I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home." Harry fought a smile at the truth of this. "And if you don't like me, then leave me alone."


	12. s2 e02 Simon Says

_It's very hard to write a fic for an episode that haveunotthought has already had such a good go at (that's a good thing, I love your version of the missing scene). I figured I'd just have a go at it myself but try to take it in a slightly different direction. Unfortunately, it turned out very similar, so clearly I have no imagination. The title for this is vaguely cryptic. It's a clue, in a way._

___1,800 WORDS. I'M GETTING GOOD AT THIS DECENT-LENGTH THING. I wrote yesterday's on the same day as well, so I wrote over 3,000 words in one day! Hurray!_

_PS there's a line from Silent Witness in here. Points to anyone who spots it. (Do a__ny of you watch SW?)_

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2.02 Wheelman

**Simon Says**

As Harry, Dempsey, Jack and Ellen made their way out of the taxi, Dempsey rested a hand in the small of Harry's back.

"What's this?" she murmured, her eyes moving to indicate his touch.

"I figure if we're all stayin' here for the night, we might need a reason why I ain't goin' home."

"Good point," Harry acknowledged with mock surprise. "We'd better make it look believable, though." As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she lifted the back of Dempsey's jacket and pushed her fingers just far enough into his waistband to touch the top of his boxers. "Leave it to me, I'm very good at seducing bad boys."

Dempsey stared at her with shocked delight. He had never doubted that Harry would go along with his plan - it was the most obvious and useful, after all - but now she was the one in the driver's seat, and he found he rather liked it. "Now Debbie, how would you have learned that?"

Harry smiled back smugly, briefly raised her eyebrows. "I'm attracted to the wrong sort of blokes."

Dempsey had to look away as he licked his lips and took the bottom one between his teeth.

Harry turned slightly to encompass Jack and Ellen with her smile. "This is me," she said, gesturing at Tom's front door.

"Are you sure you don't mind us coming in, love?" asked Ellen as Harry unlocked the door. "We don't want to put you out, or..." - she glanced pointedly at Dempsey - "get in the way."

"It's no problem, and you two need somewhere off-grid to stay. It's very exciting for me, being so close to the action. I could put this in a book."

"Well, thank you, that's very kind," Ellen said as they all followed her into the flat.

"I'm sorry, it's only small. I'm...borrowing it from my father while he's on holiday. But do make yourselves at home." Ellen and Jack settled themselves on the sofa.

"Your father goes on holiday in the winter?" Dempsey asked, sinking into the armchair.

As Debbie, Harry took a step or two towards him, swaying her hips, before answering. "Every year, he goes to Australia." She leaned down towards him, knowing that her cleavage would be showing. "He likes the heat." Dempsey very determinedly kept his eyes on hers. They may have to act like (or in his case, show that) they were attracted to each other, but he didn't think Harry would appreciate such obvious gawking.

"How 'bout a nightcap?" he suggested in his low, rumbling voice. Ignored by both of them, Ellen had begun crying softly, and Jack tried to comfort her.

As Debbie, Harry kept eye contact with Danny as she turned away. As she took a step towards the kitchen, she glanced back to check that Dempsey was watching her walk away.

He was.

Harry opened one of the top cupboards to find a drink. Her fingers brushed against the half-empty bottle of wine that Dempsey had brought over, and she found that she didn't really want to share it. Instead she pulled out the other bottle of wine and started as she felt Dempsey's hands on her hips. A tingling feeling spread throughout her body.

"Wan' a hand?" he asked, his breath against her neck.

As Debbie, she turned to look up at him. Dempsey didn't let go and one of his hands brushed the base of her spine, making heat pool in her stomach. Unable to speak, she handed him the bottle, and Dempsey lingered in taking it. She got out four glasses for him to fill and they took them back to the living area.

"Are you alright, Ellen?" Harry asked as she handed over a glass of wine.

"He promised there would be none of that tonight," Ellen responded, looking pointedly at her husband.

"I didn't ask them to turn up, did I?"

"Oh, Jack. I just want to go to bed, this is too much excitement for me. Where can I sleep, Debbie?"

As Debbie, Harry showed her and Jack through to Tom's bedroom, pointed them in the direction of the bathroom and returned to the living room. "Aren't you going to bed, Jack?" she asked as she saw that Jack was following her, wondering how much longer they were going to have to keep up this charade.

"I'm too wound up at the moment, Debbie. I'll just sit up for a bit longer."

Dempsey had taken up residence on the sofa, one arm stretched out along the top. In the time that it took for Harry to retrieve her drink from the kitchen counter, Jack had sat in the armchair. Resigning herself to more acting, she took the seat next to Dempsey, necessarily placing herself under his arm.

Well, she thought, if this was her only chance. She was a little more than tipsy and buoyed up with tension from a night of intense eye contact and cryptic triple-meanings from both of them. It was the drink, she told herself, though she wasn't that out of it, and the role, though neither Jack nor Ellen doubted Dempsey's pretext in staying the night, that made her lean towards Dempsey and place one hand exactly halfway up his thigh. She didn't look at him, but heard him swallow audibly. Take that, she thought triumphantly. A taste of your own medicine, for all the times you have...

She swallowed the end of the sentence with a gulp of wine, as talk turned to Dempsey's fictional previous driving jobs and then to how Jack and Ellen had met. Dempsey let his arm slide from the back of the sofa and around Harry's shoulders. In response, as Debbie, she slid her hand almost imperceptibly higher. His head whipped around and she caught his gaze, seeing an almost dangerous spark there.

It had become almost a game for them, to see who could push further. Harry half-hoped that Jack would go to bed soon, but whether that was so that she could move away or so that she could get closer, she wasn't, at that moment, entirely sure. All she knew was that she felt warm right to the tips of her toes, and hot to her core.

As Harry leant down to put her empty wine glass on the floor, Dempsey's arm slipped lower, dropping to encircle her waist, his hand almost underneath her bottom. He would never have pushed so far if he hadn't known that Harry could give as good as she got, and that if he went too far she would have no qualms in telling him.

Your move, he thought, telling Jack about the time he had stolen a car by putting sawdust in the tank and pretending he was a mechanic. It was true, of course. His story faltered as Harry finally removed her hand from his thigh to play with the short hairs at the back of his neck, and Jack decided it was about time he left the two of them alone.

"I'll be off to bed then," he announced.

"Goodnight," the partners said together. Dempsey leant his head back against the sofa then rolled it to look at Harry. For a moment, they were quiet.

Dempsey opened his mouth, hesitated, then said hopefully, "Few more minutes?"

"In case they come back in?"

"Uh, sure."

"So, did Debbie Smith get her man?" Harry asked playfully.

"That's another thing, when have you been out with bad boys? I'd'a thought you'd date someone terribly suitable who can help daddy run the estate."

"Well then, I guess you don't know everything," Harry responded enigmatically.

Dempsey grinned. "You know, Debbie Smith's pretty sexy when she wants to be."

"Not that you'll ever find out," she said. Her words, as so often happened, were at odds with her behaviour, as she was still stroking the back of his neck gently.

Dempsey screwed up his courage and decided to take a chance. "I like that," he said softly.

Harry removed her hand and avoided his eyes, looking as though she had just woken up from a strange dream. "It's late. I need to sleep." Her voice was empty of inflection.

Heart sinking, Dempsey nodded and took his own arm from around her waist.

"So where do we sleep?"

Harry motioned for him to get up, removed the cushions from the sofa, and pulled on a bar to reveal a sofa-bed.

"Cute."

"Two blankets," Harry said immediately, beginning to sound flustered for the first time all night.

"Great." Dempsey's awkwardness had reduced him to single words.

"I'll just go, er, brush my teeth." Harry left the room. Dempsey removed his jacket and shirt and got into bed. By the time Harry returned, delayed by nerves, he was pretty much asleep. She took off her dress, crawled into bed and was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

When Harry awoke the next morning, she went cold with the realisation that she had automatically slept in nothing but her underpants. It did not help that she was currently lying facing Dempsey, who had one hand under the pillow and the other underneath hers. How had that happened? She glanced around the room for something to preserve her modesty, and her eyes lit upon Dempsey's discarded shirt at the end of the bed. Clutching the blanket to herself, she picked it up, wriggled about under the blanket to get it on, then skipped out of bed feeling rather elated.

There was definitely something to be said for making coffee in just De- a man's shirt, she thought, even a man with whom the night had been chaste (the evening, slightly less so. But they had only slept together, not 'slept together'). It made her feel good.

Dempsey sat up when the kettle clicked, and was rubbing his eyes when Jack came in.

"Can I use your phone?"

"Ask Deb," Dempsey replied, and it was only as she came out from behind the counters that she was wearing his shirt...and little else besides. Now that was a sight worth waking up for. He accepted his coffee, managing not to stare. "You were great last night," he said, leaving his meaning open as they both did so often.

Harry looked round, oozing resentment, and he realised that it wasn't the moment for teasing.

"At the bistro," Dempsey clarified. Though he meant afterwards too, when she had stroked the back of his neck, blushed as she sorted out their sleeping arrangements, and undressed just feet away from him in the dark.


	13. s2 e03 Dirty Talk

2.03 Love You To Death

**Dirty Talk**

Harry came back into the living room with two cups of tea just as Dempsey put the phone down with his aunt. He was sitting on the coffee table, and accepted his cup as Harry sat opposite him on the sofa. For a few moments they sipped in silence.

"You know, your dirty talk ain't up to much. You always that bad or d'you just not like me?"

"It's not exactly normal to be doing it in the middle of the day, with a stalker listening in via a bugged lampshade," Harry pointed out, and it did not escape Dempsey's notice that she had side-stepped the question somewhat.

Dempsey fought a smirk. "You tellin' me you can do better?"

Harry leaned forward, just pushing at the edge of his personal space. "I'm telling you I can do much better." She sat back up and took a sip of her tea.

"Yeah? You're not a voyeurist then, huh?"

Harry frowned. "Surely you mean exhibitionist?"

"That a confession?"

Harry pursed her lips and said firmly, "No."

"Alright, what's the worst pick-up line y'ever heard?"

"Erm... A man once approached me in a club and said 'great legs, what time do they open?'"

Dempsey stared at her. "You're kiddin'?"

"Wish I was."

"Jeez, what a jerk. A girl once said to me 'can I have your phone number, I seem to have lost mine'."

Harry laughed, and they carried on swapping bad pick-up lines.

"Ya know what we should do? We should go out somewhere and we each get 3 lines, and whoever gets the most phone numbers by the end o' the night wins."

Harry considered him. "Wins what?"

"Holiday for two in the Caribbean? I dunno, the loser can buy the drinks next time we go out."

"Okay. You're on."

"Meet you at 8, usual place?"

"Fine... Dempsey..." Harry paused, considering her words. "This is a different game for a man than it is for a woman. Could you..." Her pride and her sensibility fought each other. "We'll keep an eye on each other, agreed?"

"Trust me, Harry, I won't be able to take my eyes off you."

-:-

That evening, Harry and Dempsey met at a bar. It was a lively place that played music and pushed the dining tables back after 9pm to make a small dancefloor. Along the walls were booths for people to sit, as well as the tall circular tables in front of them. Harry and Dempsey got their drinks and sat opposite each other in one of the booths.

"So how does this work?" Harry asked as she sipped her second tequila.

"We give each other a line and pick someone to use it on, then you gotta go do it. We get five minutes then we meet up again. The one with the most phone numbers buys all the drinks next time. So for your first challenge, your line is '400 pound penguin', then he'll say 'what?' and you say 'well, it broke the ice'. And you gotta use it on..." Dempsey scanned the room for the most unlikely person he could imagine, and his eyes settled on a 30-something man wearing a black vest and blue jeans, with a full-sleeve tattoo on both arms. He could not imagine Harry going for him normally. "That guy."

"Alright, you've got to say... 'is it hot in here or is it just you?'"

"Aw, Harry, that's a classic."

"That's the one I'm choosing. And for your first victim..." Harry pointed out a dark-haired woman wearing a short blue dress.

"Done." They clinked their glasses together, downed the rest of their drinks, and went off to their respective targets. Harry's tattooed man laughed at her comment and shook his head as he walked away. She watched Dempsey instead, who had his arm around his target. He caught her eye and smirked, and she saw him take a piece of paper from the woman. Damn it, she thought. Only one round and I'm behind.

Dempsey joined her at the bar; they sat on the tall stools with another drink as they picked out their next targets.

"Got one!" Harry said. "Your next line is 'if I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?'"

Dempsey snorted. "I'll get arrested for that one!"

"Well then you'd better make sure you behave like a gentleman." Harry picked a woman with a purple scarf who was sitting in one of the booths with a group of friends.

"And yours is 'my name's Harry, but you can call me Tonight.' Go for... him, in the green top."

Harry looked at the man Dempsey was pointing at. She wasn't sure why, but there was something about him that unnerved her.

"No, choose someone else."

"You're supposed to go for whoever the other person chooses," Dempsey protested.

"No. He gives me a bad feeling," Harry replied firmly.

Dempsey nodded and instead pointed out an infeasibly tall man in a suit. Once again, they downed their drinks and parted.

Dempsey slid into the seat next to his target and said his line, but the woman gave him a disgusted look and told him to piss off. When Dempsey tried to persist, the man sitting opposite her dragged him out of the booth. "That's my best friend there, don't you harrass her."

It was Dempsey's turn to watch Harry work her magic. She was sitting next the tall man at one of the high tables, leaning into him and smiling. Something in Dempsey's chest tightened. When Harry rejoined him, she said, "He started telling me about a chemistry experiment, I have no idea why. I got his number, though. How did you get on?"

"I nearly got punched by the girl's best friend."

They were a little more than tipsy by now, and getting loud.

"Alright Harry, you gotta say 'do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?' and your target is that guy with the leather jacket."

"That one's awful! You have to say 'I may not be the best-looking man here but I'm the only one talking to you'."

"Aw, you know I'm really the best-looking guy in town."

"Full marks for arrogance. Your target is that woman with pink hair."

"It all comes down to this one, you know. We're equal at the moment."

For the third and final time, they downed their drinks and went off in search of their prey. Harry approached the man in the leather jacket. "Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?"

The man laughed. "Firstly, that's rubbish, and second, sorry but I'm already taken." As he spoke, a blonde man gave Harry's target a drink, took his hand and kissed him on the cheek.

"Who's this?" asked the newcomer, looking at Harry.

"Never mind, sorry," she said, and left them. Dempsey was still talking to the woman with the pink hair, but after a few minutes he stood up and scanned the crowd. When he caught sight of her grinned triumphantly and made his way through the bar.

"I got it! How did you do?" he asked over the music.

"Not great, it turns out he doesn't find women that attractive."

With the alcohol slowing him down, Dempsey said, "What?"

"He's gay."

"Oh, right. That means I win! I got two, you got one. Drinks on you next time, Makepeace. I got one last pick-up line. You're so beautiful, you made me forget it."

They moved on to another bar and had a few more drinks. Sometime in the small hours, Dempsey asked, "You ready to go home?"

"Yes, let's go."

"Your place or mine?" he asked with a smirk.

"Both - you go to yours, and I'll go to mine!"


	14. s2 e04 To Prove A Point

2.04 No Surrender

**To Prove A Point**

When Harry was given the all-clear and discharged from the hospital, Dempsey came to pick her up. She had told him she was quite capable of getting a taxi, but he had insisted gently that he wanted to take her home. So she had decided to let him.

She waited outside at the agreed time with the overnight bag her friend had brought for her. He was only fifteen minutes late, and he kissed her on the cheek as he took her bag to put in the boot.

As they drove away, he asked, "How ya feelin'?"

"Perfectly normal, so don't try and take me off work again."

"Alright, alright! Just tryin'a be friendly."

Harry tried to look at his facial expression without turning her head. He didn't really seem offended.

When they pulled up outside her house, Harry asked him in for a drink. Dempsey pretended to take it as an invitation for something quite different, but accepted.

They settled themselves on the sofa with a cup of tea each. After a while, Dempsey said, without looking at her, "Spikings reckons you swapped yourself to prove a point..."

Harry turned to stare at him.

"...because o' me. Is that true?" Dempsey saw Harry's jaw set and realised he was in trouble.

"You bastard," she spat. "I did it because she needed a doctor. I was trying to save her life and protect the other people in that bank, and I won't have you taking that away from me. Contrary to what you might think, my life doesn't revolve around you."

"Sorry, I know that. You're... I just thought..."

"What?"

He smiled, draining the seriousness from the conversation. "Maybe you were tryin'a impress me."

Harry held his gaze.

"Not that you need to."


	15. s2 e05 Maybe

2.05 Tequila Sunrise

**Maybe**

When Spikings had finished with Harry, she wandered towards the road to find either a phone box or a taxi to take her home, only to find that Dempsey had waited for her.

"Would the lady like a ride?" he asked, grinning.

Harry got in. "I seem to have spent a lot of time in a car with you over the last few days," she observed. "You know, you don't have to give me a lift home."

"I like drivin' you home. Gives you plen'y of opportunity to invite me in for a wild night."

"You can come in for a cup of tea if you like but I don't think I'll be doing anything wild tonight, I need to recover."

"I never woulda believed it," Dempsey said again, shaking his head. He decided to push her a little. "You know, I thought you were alright going in the clothes you were wearing. What made you decide to change?"

He was pretty sure he knew, but he had to ask. He noticed the blush spreading over her cheeks with a thrill, and took it as confirmation of his hopes. He kept quiet and eventually Harry said, "I don't remember..."

Dempsey took pity on her and left the subject alone, but he knew he would remember that blush.

-:-

When they were installed on the sofa with a coffee, Dempsey asked, "So how do you know Jock?"

Harry glanced at him, wondering how to answer. "He's a friend."

"Did you go out with him?" he probed.

"For about three weeks. It was never anything serious."

"Why'd you split up?"

"There was no particular reason, we just weren't going anywhere and didn't really want to. Why are you so interested...you jealous?"

He held her gaze. "Maybe."

Harry fought a smile as she looked into her coffee mug. "Well it's really none of your business."


	16. s2 e06 Kiss and Tell

_I apologise for both the length and quality of this. I've been busy and I'm a little behind. I'll do better tomorrow!_

* * *

2.06 Blood Money

**Kiss and Tell**

"Come on, you and Juli-boy ever make it together?" Dempsey asked.

Harry gave him a disapproving look, annoyed and amused that he was probing into her past boyfriends again. "I think Rashid must have set Yasin up in business to smuggle stuff in for him." Dempsey twisted his mouth to cover his knowing smile - he had just KNOWN she was going to close him out again. "And Redgrave does the buying and selling." Harry focused on work, after all this was work time and there was a limit to how much she wanted Dempsey to know about her past boyfriends and bedmates.

Dempsey smirked at her sudden retraction of candidness. "Okay, look, you don't wanna kiss and tell? I can respect that."

Harry highly doubted that, and kept talking. "That way, Rashid keeps his nose clean, until someone kills Yasin. Somebody who didn't know what they were getting for their trouble... Dempsey, you're disgusting."

"Thank you."


	17. s2 e07 Cover-Up

2.07 Set A Thief

**Cover-Up**

"Are we talkin' about the same Danby?" Dempsey demanded. He could not see any redeeming qualities in the man.

"Mm-mm."

Harry watched as Dempsey took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "You know, it's just like New York, there's no difference." He had come all this way to escape the corruption of police officers. And now there were people here in England trying to create a cover-up.

"Dempsey -"

"Same difference, I'm tellin' you, when it's rotten, it's rotten, it's the old flim-flam cover-up."

"Dempsey -"

"And they try to tell me my ancestors came over here on the Mayflower." He suddenly registered that Harry was trying to get his attention. "What?"

Finally, Harry thought. "Can I have your hat?"

Dempsey immediately went into over-analysing mode, wondering why she wanted it. "My hat?" He half wanted to keep it, to remind him of that gentle evening in a rubbish dump, but he found it hard to deny Harry anything she asked. And she did look (very) good in it.

Harry waited, and after a few moment's thought Dempsey placed the hat on her head. She smiled up at him, pleased.

Dempsey decided he couldn't let go of the tangible reminder. "No," he said flatly, and removed it, but the disappointment on Harry's face was enough to tell him that she attached as much significance to this hat as he did; enough to make him change his mind. He turned back and dropped the hat on her head, far too low over her eyes.

Harry grinned and adjusted the hat to watch him leave Spikings' office. He paused at the door.

"Just make sure you wear it for me," he said, smiling, and was gone.


	18. s2 e08 Words

_I've watched the scene about 5 times and I still can't figure out what Harry says where I've put the [?]_

_ETA: thanks to VivaKouros, I can now fill this in._

* * *

2.08 The Hit

**Words**

"We're looking for a male Caucasian average height, average build," Dempsey said, shrugging.

"That covers about 60 villains within our precinct," Harry observed.

Spikings drew himself up crossly. "Precinct?" he repeated in a dangerous voice.

It was only then that Harry realised what she had said. "Thought I'd make him feel at home," she excused herself, pointing at Dempsey.

Dempsey met Harry's eyes for a moment; he loved it when she picked up his words, especially when she seemed hardly to have noticed that she had done it. It seemed to bridge more than just a difference in lexicon, though maybe that was just him reading too much into a simple slip of the tongue. They spent most of their days together, after all, maybe it was only natural that their vocabularies would begin to merge. All the same, he kind of liked this proof of their time.

He'd caught himself saying 'pavement' the other day.

Dempsey had to use his coffee cup to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As they left the office, Dempsey said quietly, "Precinct?"

"I think your bad habits are rubbing off on me, Lieutenant," Harry replied loftily.

"Can't tell you how much I enjoy my bad habits rubbin' off on you, Sergeant," he growled into her ear.

Harry caught the innuendo and shot Dempsey a warning look. He just grinned and kept walking.


	19. s2 e09 Christmas Cards

_Goroslin tells me I'm lacking in Harry-centric fics so far, so here's a start at redressing the balance._

* * *

2.09 In The Dark

**Christmas Cards**

They went back to Harry's house to examine the evidence after their spot of house-breaking. Dempsey put in a tape, turned out the lamp on the shelves and poured out two glasses as Harry read out the paper Dempsey had taken.

"75%? You should see my Christmas card list, it runs into the thousands," Harry said.

"Am I on it?"

Harry tried to ignore his proximity, entirely aware that his concentration was a long way from work. She could feel her heart pounding; this time of night lent a certain intimacy to the most innocent of exchanges. Harry fought to keep things professional. She wasn't sure how strong her self-control would be in this situation. "No, you're not," she lied, trying to avoid touching him as she took her glass, placing her fingers on the opposite side to his. "Accordingly, we undertake to collect your goods - what goods, for heaven's sake? - on Thursday the 16th." His gaze was intense, even while she refused to meet it.

Dempsey managed to show some semblance of working. "That's tomorrow - no, that's today," he noted, checking his watch.

"Said goods to be ready in-store on the premises of the Duke of Cumberland public house." She put the paper down and kept her tone light as she said, "Well, I'm as much in the dark as ever." She sat back against the sofa, unconsciously turning her body towards him. "What's that got to do with Tom's ten billion?" She loved the way he was looking at her. Harry decided to tease him a little. "Mm, I've had enough of today. Let's go to bed."

As she had expected, Dempsey immediately looked up at her, his expression wholly surprised. He almost believed her, Harry realised, and quickly clarified.

"Me in my bed, you in yours," she said, hiding a smirk.

Dempsey moved towards her, and for a second Harry thought he was going to kiss her. For more than a second, she wanted him to. "Harry..." he began, his voice slightly strangled, but as he opened his mouth whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of his phone.

Only half relieved, Harry indicated it with her eyes. She did not miss the disappointment in Dempsey's face and voice as he turned to pick up.

He barely said a word on the phone, but looked worried as he turned back to her.

"What's up?" she asked, knowing that their quiet evening was over. She had hoped... well, she wasn't sure what she had hoped for. More of his stillness, of his steady gaze. Of the way her every sense seemed hyper-sensitive when she was with him.

"That was Laura. She's in trouble, hiding out in the Playhouse Theatre." Dempsey took a moment to smile into her eyes. "Looks like bed's gonna have to wait a little while, Princess."


	20. s2 e10 Knowledge

2.10 The Bogeyman

**Knowledge**

They had agreed to go out for a drink after work. The plan had been to meet at a pub a few streets away from the office.

Harry arrived first and ordered herself a lemonade while she waited, thinking about Dempsey. This Lyman case had really shaken him, she knew. Lyman was an interesting character, violent and unpredictable but completely self-assured. Much like Dempsey himself. And suddenly Harry realised he was not coming.

She left the pub and drove back to SI10, certain that that would be where he was. As she approached the door she saw that the room was dark, and yet she could hear clicking. When she pushed open the door she saw Dempsey sitting at the desk, meticulously cleaning his gun. He glanced at her in the doorway, and for a moment she just watched him, not knowing what to say. The video she had taken of Lyman was paused on the TV.

"Lyman was a soldier," Dempsey spoke. "Spent some years in Borneo, Haiti, Cyprus... Special operations."

"I knew I'd find you here," Harry said gently.

Dempsey persisted with his summary of Lyman's history. "Dishonourable discharge. Assaulting his commanding officer."

Harry sensed that there was something he was trying to say, and this round-about way of getting there was necessary for him to get to the point. She went to sit on the desk beside him. "So, what's bothering you?"

"The weather. I don't know how you put up with it. Makes me think o' New York. Maybe I'm homesick."

His small smile told her this was true, but his sudden downturn did not fit with the weather. "No but, what's really bothering you?" she pressed, her gaze challenging him.

"Can't do it no more, Harry... I'm losin' it."

He looked so dejected she almost put an arm around him.

"I'm missin'... Lost my edge... Maybe I'm burned out."

Harry had known the case had affected him, but only now realised how seriously.

"This Lyman is really getting to you, isn't he?" she said, showing him she knew where his mood had come from and hoping to provoke his further confidence. It annoyed her that he seemed surprised that she had him figured out, and frustrated her that he tried to close her off.

"Lyman?"

Harry pressed 'play' on the tape, and Dempsey's hands stilled as they watched it together.

"You know something? He reminds me of you." If she was honest, a lot of things did.

"It's not Lyman."

"He threw your operation, he killed Miller. He gave you the slip, not once but twice and he's always a step ahead of you."

"So's my shadow," Dempsey insisted, trying to play it down. Harry wondered if she had unnerved him.

"And you can't catch that either," Harry pointed out.

"Maybe he's the bogeyman."

"Maybe he's what you would have been if you weren't a cop." It gave her a thrill to see the stunned look on his face as they both realised she knew him inside out. And yet, any reponse he might have made was again stolen by the ringing of a telephone.

Dempsey answered the phone without looking away. "Dempsey. I wasn't here before." Harry wondered if that meant he had set off to meet her before turning back. "I got the message. I waited for your call, what do you want? Yeah. No deal. I want him."

After Dempsey put the phone down, he explained the call to Harry. She was pleased that the investigation was progressing, but decided that this was the moment to say something that she had been thinking about since that morning. "Dempsey. You went a bit overboard this morning telling everyone to cover me. They know what they're doing."

"You were unarmed, Harry, and I didn't want anythin' happenin' to ya."

"But you do it all the time, you're always trying to be over-protective. I can take care of myself." She had fought for a long time to prove it, as well.

"Listen to me carefully here, Harry, 'cause I'm tryin' real hard not to word this badly. I know you don't need me to protect you. But I'm happy to know that it's me you choose to watch your back when you need it, and there's nobody I'd rather was watchin' my back. This ain't about me looking after you, it's about me and you workin' together, an' keepin' an eye on each other."

Harry hardly knew what to say.

"I think you're..." Dempsey hesitated. "A brilliant cop." Harry was sure that he had been about to say something else. "And I'm real glad you're my partner." He looked down suddenly, bashful, as though he had revealed too much. Then he stood up, too close, placing a hand at the small of her back. "C'mon, let's go home."

* * *

_This fits in well with the little chat they have in the following scene, when Dempsey tells her to be careful and she says 'you too'. Didn't actually realise that when I was writing, just discovered it when I kept watching. I love it when that happens._


	21. s3 e01 Johnny or James

3.01 The Burning, Part 1

**Johnny or James**

One of the unexpected side-effects for Harry, of Dempsey disappearing for six weeks, was discovering that she was genuinely frightened for him. Not just what he would do to others, but how he would take care of himself, how he would fill his days.

It was like looking for a very eager pet dog. She kept turning round to talk to him, then remembering with a start that he was not there.

* * *

In hindsight, Harry realised there was only one person that would be calling her at 6am. Despite the interruption to her sleep, the sound of his voice was such a relief that it was difficult not to beg him to come over that moment. But she managed to do her job, writing down his new name and arranging to meet him for a 'tour'.

On the drive over, Harry had pictured their reunion. 6 weeks and not a word. And now they would meet outside Albert Hall and she would pretend she was annoyed with him, but maybe they'd wrap their arms around each other before reverting to their duties. It was different, this case, because the case was him.

Seeing him on the shoulders of a man in a police hat was rather a surprise. The hug was supplanted by a cursory handshake, her half-formed ideas of their conversation dashed by the presence of the unknown man. Dempsey - Johnny - was exuberant, introducing his friend with the ease of a man who had nothing to hide, despite the reverse being true.

That moustache looked ridiculous.

Harry gave them the tour, wondering when on earth they would have chance to talk, becoming more and more irate. It was several frustration-filled hours later that Dempsey sent Butch for ice cream and finally told her what he had heard. When he had finished, he lit a cigarette, and Harry was taken aback. All day, he had been playing a role, but it had been an exaggerated version of aspects of himself. But this seemed to take him further away from her; she didn't know this person. She knew the Dempsey that smiled into her eyes when she lit his occasional cigars.

She missed that Dempsey.

As he leant back and closed his eyes, she thought she saw him again. This was Dempsey's exhaustion, a fatigue brought on by playing someone else for his every waking moment.

Harry's frustration at the loss of the day she had been expecting revealed itself in her tone as she asked, "Are you alright?"

"Been worse."

"Well you look like you need some sleep." She hoped the anger would cover her genuine concern.

"Hey, Johnny the Wolf don't sleep," Dempsey replied, though the tired way he shifted in the car seat said otherwise.

* * *

Harry met the two of them in a bar. Almost immediately, Dempsey dragged her off to dance - not that she was complaining. Not when he put an arm around her waist to pull her close to him, curling the fingers of his other hand around hers.

She tried to speak, hoping to conceal that this certainly meant more to her than it did to him, but no words came and for a moment she decided to just enjoy the dancing for what it was.

Life is hard, then you die.

So many times as they discussed the work, their lips came dangerously close. Harry wondered if he could feel the way her heart was beating against his chest. It must be true, what people said: absence makes the heart grow fonder. She managed to keep her voice normal, but was barely even conscious of the way she moved differently. She was hyper-aware, though, of the way his jacket felt under her chin and against her throat, and of the way his voice felt against her cheek.

When Dempsey asked her if she minded if he 'got close' to Mara Conrad, Harry wondered if she had given herself away, or if he was just teasing her as he so often did. She was glad he could not see her face when she denied caring about him getting close to Mara; her expression would have answered his question more honestly than her words.

* * *

Harry spent the night in the office, reading a book and trying not to think about what Dempsey was doing. It was not until the small hours of the morning that she returned home and got to go to bed. In her sleep, she re-lived dancing with Dempsey, something she wished they could do without the pretence of being other people. Butch had watched, but then he shifted into a beautiful woman Harry knew, in that dream-way, was Mara Conrad. Mara started tugging at Dempsey's arm; Harry tried to hold on to him but he stepped out of their embrace.

_'You don't mind do you, Harry?'_

_'Of course I mind!'_

Harry was awoken with a start by a loud click. For the second morning in a row, Dempsey had been her alarm clock, though today he was doing it in person.

"It's me," he said redundantly.

Harry had to turn the lamp on to confirm the impression her tired eyes were giving her. Sure enough, it was Dempsey sitting by the window with a beer in his hand, his feet on the bed and that silly moustache above his lip. She sighed heavily, waving goodbye to any chance of a good night's sleep.

"You were dreaming about me, right?" he said.

Harry stared at the alarm clock, buying time; his comment was a little too close to the truth.

"I have nightmares about you when I'm awake. Why would I need to dream about you when I'm asleep?" If only she could convince her subconscious mind of that.

"Mind if I help myself to a beer?"

"Why should I mind? You've broken in here so many times now I might as well give you a set of keys." Harry yawned and sat up. She could not honestly say that waking up to Dempsey, however unexpected, was entirely unpleasant. "So? How did it go?" She tried not to nod off as they spoke about his progress the night before. Both of them referred to Johnny in the third person, distancing him from the two of them.

"Nothin' yet."

"Then why are you here?"

In the second that Dempsey paused, Harry thought he might say, "To see you," and while his response was not a long way from that, it was just far enough to be disappointing.

Dempsey stood looking out of the window and lit a cigar. Somehow it made him more human.

Slowly, reluctantly, Dempsey told Harry the story of Joey and Coltrane. Harry thought she saw the root of Dempsey's initial mistrust of her, Spikings, the other officers, 'upstairs'... It was a betrayal that ran so deep, she could understand why it had affected him so badly.

"So... you killed your partner."

Dempsey looked dejectedly out of the window, as though he was watching the scene over and over again. He stood, turning his back to her. Seeing the protective hunch in his shoulders made Harry get up and stand behind him. She put her arms around him, crossing them over his belly, resting her cheek against his back.

"What's this for?" Dempsey asked as he covered her hands with his own.

"You looked like you needed it," Harry murmured truthfully. She had not been sure that he would accept her comfort, so the feel of his hands holding hers was a reassurance. She felt his back move as he sighed. Several quiet minutes passed before they unwillingly broke the embrace.


	22. s3 e02 Two

3.02 The Burning, Part 2

**Two**

It was such a cliché, but for Dempsey it was true: when he heard that Harry had been shot, something in him died. He suddenly felt like a lost little boy, alone in a malevolent universe. It made him feel weak and slightly dizzy, as though he were a puppet stumbling through a darkened room.

His anger, a tight, hard knot at the base of his sternum, was directed at Coltrane. This was a man who had taken two of Dempsey's partners from him. When Dempsey saw him by the lake there was nothing, nothing he wanted more than to put two bullets between the man's eyes - one for Joey, and one for Harry. (Well, perhaps there were two things he wanted more.)

The problem was, it would not bring either of them back. Killing Coltrane would not erase Joey's betrayal and his own guilt, or undo Harry's death (his mind skipped over the word).

But by God, he wanted to do it.

Dempsey took the safety catch off.

He had never killed anyone in cold blood before. (If this pounding, rushing could be called cold.) His heart was cold, though; maybe that should be the phrase.

He thought he must have imagined it when Harry called his name. History tugged him back, his whirling around acting like a portal to that day. His body aimed of its own accord, trying to save him again, but then the sight before him registered. His arm was nudged upwards, this was Harry.

The bastard had lied to him, Harry was alive and Coltrane had let him think she was dead. Not only that, Coltrane's influence had nearly made him shoot her. Dempsey aimed at Coltrane (he thought he could do it now, he could pull the trigger).

Only one thing stopped him. 5 words. In the end, just 5 words were enough to heal him, to bring him home. "I care about you, Dempsey." They echoed round and around in his head, until Coltrane was reduced to just a man again, not a monster, not the shadow of his nightmares. Dempsey lowered his gun.

And Harry... Harry was there, touching his arm, knowing him better than he thought anyone could. "You didn't kill Joey."

Dempsey took in her eyes, her face. She was here, and solid, and alive. '_I care about you, Dempsey.'_

His next words were so heartfelt he thought Harry might understand the true meaning behind them. They came out almost without conscious thought, on the crest of a sigh. "Boy, it's good to see you."

Harry tried to hide her smile as she heard those words; she tasted the breadth of the truth in them. Dempsey pulled her into a hug and they clung to each other.

"I thought you were dead," Dempsey said, his voice raw. Harry pretended she couldn't feel the tears on her shoulder as he held her close. She was surprised by his reaction; they had grown closer in the past few months, but she had not realised just how much he would miss her.

As they draw away Harry held his face and wiped his tears away with her thumbs. Before either of them could say anything, Chas interrupted and insisted that Dempsey be checked over by the paramedic. As he pulled Dempsey away, Harry walked back up to the house and sat on the brick wall to wait, looking out over the garden. The grass was a lustrous shade of green; she only hoped it wasn't greener in New York.

She had never known why Dempsey had come to England in the first place, but now that she knew she began to worry. The reason to stay away was gone now, and she did not know if Dempsey had any reason to stay in England. (She hoped, of course, but hope was not knowledge.)

Harry looked round as Dempsey sat next to her. The time for back-pedalling has begun, she thought.

"You said you cared about me."

"What I said was I would shoot you," she pointed out.

"No, I distinctly remember hearing words to the effect that you cared about me."

Why did he have to bring it up? Surely it was easy enough to find some other woman to massage his over-inflated ego?

"Well, I had to say something to stop you."

Dempsey seemed to think about that for a second. "You did."

She watched him leave, wondering why those words in particular were the ones he had seized upon. As she went to stand by him she caught the end of his conversation with Mara. "...and it's on my side." Dempsey rested his arm on her shoulder and for what seemed the millionth time she was caught up in his gaze.

"Thanks," he said simply.

Harry smiled. "Pleasure."

* * *

_Is fanfic looking & acting weirdly for anyone else? It's not just me, is it?_


	23. s3 e03 One Night

_I may overlap with haveunotthought a little from now on, since she did something similar to me for these later episodes. I shall endeavour to use different sections, or at least write different things._

* * *

3.03 Jericho Scam

**One Night**

When Harry got home that evening, the last thing she expected to find was Dempsey. Although, he broke in so often maybe he was the second-to-last thing she expected. She would never really have turfed him out, even if he was a fugitive, but she was angry at how he had treated her so she let him grovel and persuade her.

Soon they were tucking into a spaghetti bolognese of Dempsey's making. The pasta was dried, the sauce was from a jar and the mince was frozen, but it was hot and filling and he presented it with what he seemed to think was a disarming smile. Harry could not bring herself to stop being annoyed with him - he had not apologised, after all. Yes, she had abandoned the tail, but she had also stopped Dempsey from being arrested. Not that it made a lot of difference now; he was in even more trouble.

They sat in the living room to eat, Dempsey tucking in with gusto while Harry ate more slowly. When they had finished, she took the plates through to the kitchen. Dempsey followed her and leant against the counter next to the sink as she turned the taps on and stacked the washing up. Harry tutted at the mess he had made.

"I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't lost your tail," he pointed out, disappointed by her reaction.

Harry rounded on him. "I was TRYING to stop you getting arrested, Dempsey! I can't believe you're trying to blame me for this, you were the one who broke into the bloody man's house!"

Dempsey looked at his feet, humbled. "Yeah, I know."

Harry waited as he opened his mouth, hesitated, then looked up at her again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blamed you."

"No, you shouldn't," Harry agreed, but she was smiling.

Dempsey stepped closer. Taking her hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. "Friends?" he asked, still standing so close.

"Always." Harry felt her cheeks burning and hoped her blush was not visible. "Go on, you sit down by the fire, I'll be in when I've done the washing up."

Dempsey had barely shifted his weight to turn when Harry gripped his hand slightly harder. He waited, but she said nothing. After a moment, Harry turned back to the sink and slid the first plate into the water, so he left. Harry breathed deeply, feeling like a teenager with her first boyfriend. It felt silly for a kiss on the cheek to mean so much to her. She was a little slow to wash up, preoccupied with thoughts of Dempsey.

Harry returned to the living room and stood in the doorway. Dempsey, sat in an armchair, was looking into the fire, so he did not notice her watching him. Yes, Harry admitted to herself, her eyes travelling from his socks, over his body and to his face; he's attractive.

She felt a jolt as he looked round and acknowledged her study with a smile. Harry went to join him, noting that he had pushed the two armchairs together, slightly turned towards each other. When she sat down, their knees touched. Neither of them moved.

Harry passed Dempsey a hot chocolate. They drank them in companionable silence, listening to the crackling of the fire in the darkening room.

Dempsey wriggled his toes at her feet, trying to tickle her. Harry shot him a mock glare and instead he took her ankle between his feet. If eye-contact was sex, Harry thought, then by now she and Dempsey would have succumbed to the odds on birth control and she would be pregnant.

Harry shook herself and spoke. "Do you want to come and get a duvet and things from upstairs?"

He gave a half-smile as he stood to follow her upstairs. "Harry Makepeace, are you inviting me into your bedroom?"

"Only to get a duvet, don't get excited." She pushed open the door and went to her chest of drawers to get the spare duvet. Dempsey hesitated in the doorway as though he was a vampire who had to be invited in, but when Harry held out a pillow he crossed the room to take it. In the next drawer up Harry collected a matching pillowcase and duvet cover, lying next to a number of rolled-up ties. Dempsey pulled on the end of a tie, unravelling it from the drawer, and draped it around his neck like a snake. Harry pretended not to notice.

On the other side was Dempsey's hat, sitting innocently in the corner. When Harry looked up, she realised Dempsey was looking at her thoughtfully, and raised her eyebrows at him haughtily. "Can I help you?"

"Y'ever wear that hat?"

Harry swiftly pushed the drawer closed. "Yes."

Dempsey gave her one of those smiles that made her think that he knew all her secrets. For the second time that night Harry prayed she was not blushing. The truth was, she wore it quite a bit, but seldom when she left the house.

"Why are you so preoccupied with that hat anyway?" she asked.

"It's mine."

"It was."

"And you want it." He tipped his head a little. "And you look real sexy in it."

"Go to bed, Dempsey."

"With pleasure, Makepeace."

"Downstairs," she added firmly.

"Aw, Harry."


	24. s3 e04 King James

3.04 The Prizefighter

King James

As their enigmatic contact left them, Dempsey wound up the window of the car.

"Well, I thought that went brilliantly," Harry said in her American accent. She told herself it was so the man would not overhear, nothing to do with the fact that Dempsey thought it was sexy. She shifted around and put her seatbelt on, missing the grin Dempsey tried to hide.

Dempsey whistled as he checked his mirrors and pulled out of the parking space. "Oner a head, it's pretty steep."

"Sure, but ain't I worth it, Duane?"

"You sure are, sugar. Now why don't you take your husband to bed? - I'm beat."

Harry's voice was frustrated as she said, "Oh, Dempsey." She had dropped the accent.

"What?"

"You're so crass sometimes. Why is everything about sex with you?"

"Better than sex without me," he retorted, grinning mischievously.

Harry folded her arms and looked exasperatedly out of the window.

"Where to, boss?" Dempsey asked in a gentler voice.

"Home, James. Mine, that is."

"Hey, you know that bath essence is still on offer."

"I don't trust your bathroom lock."

"There's nothin' wrong with my bathroom lock."

"Well I don't trust you."

"That's probably wise."

"So let me go home," Harry pressed.

"Fine." He glanced at her. "I like it when you call me James. But you know, everyone else calls me Jim."

"I like the name James. It's like James the sixth of Scotland and first of England, ruling two countries in union. It was in his reign that Britain started colonising America."

"Are you saying I rule the world?"

"I'm saying you're arrogant and like to control everything."

"Eh, same difference."


	25. s3 e05 Defence

3.05 Extreme Prejudice

**Defence**

Dempsey has to persuade a heavily armed man not to kill them all.

"How did you persuade him to come down?" Harry asked.

Dempsey shrugged. "Slapped him around a little." He could not help mirroring Harry's smile as he realised that she knew he was lying.

"You seemed to be getting on very well with him."

"Well, you know, he's just a kid on the inside. So that's how I treated him. He was just scared, had no one to help 'im."

"No wonder you bonded. You're both children."

"Dempsey! Makepeace! I want you back in the office in an hour; you need to give statements."

Dempsey looked sullenly at Spikings' retreating back. "We just stopped half the London police force gettin' shot, he could give us a bit o' time to catch our breath."

"He is."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"It only takes twenty minutes to get back to the office from here."

"In that case, Lady Makepeace, would you accompany me for a cup of tea?" Dempsey suggested in his best English accent, holding out his arm.

Harry linked arms with him. "Certainly, Mr Dempsey."

"What, I ain't good enough for a 'Lord'?"

"Most of them would have a heart attack if you walked in and told them you were a Lord."

"Your dad didn't," Dempsey pointed out as they got into the car.

"He's a special case."

"How come?"

"He's special. Anyway, he probably only puts up with you because I like you."

Dempsey grinned, seizing on the words. "You like me, huh?"

"Just a figure of speech," Harry excused herself quickly.

"Nah, I think you really do. I think you secretly got the hots for me." He grinned at her. "Look, you're blushin'!"

"I am not blushing, Dempsey, I'm just hot."

"I'll second that!"

To Harry's relief, at that moment she spotted a cafe and pointed it out. They parked and went inside. Dempsey ordered a tea, a coffee and a piece of chocolate cake while Harry chose a table.

As Dempsey sat down with the order he said, "My mom used to say I had eyes the colour of chocolate cake."

Ever since that night, what felt like lifetimes ago, when she and Dempsey had been Debbie and Danny, Harry had been inexplicably preoccupied with finding an excuse to hold the back of his neck again. She thought maybe it would suggest that some of it had been her, after all. Maybe because it was an expression of closeness. For whatever reason, she grasped the back of Dempsey's neck to look into his eyes. "Definitely chocolatey," she agreed, twisting a lock of his hair around her finger so that it pulled gently on his scalp.

Dempsey's eyes crinkled at the corners as his gaze flickered from Harry's eyes to her lips. He was desperate to say that he wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid of scaring her away again, so he said nothing.

"Edwards tried to tell me you're a killer," Harry said, twisting his hair around her fingers.

"What did _you_ say?" Dempsey asked, trying to concentrate on the conversation and not the delicious tingling feeling that Harry's fingers were creating.

"I said I know you better."

"Defending my honor?"

"Are you going back to America?" Harry asked abruptly.

Dempsey searched her face, hoping that meant that she did not want him too. "Not yet."

"Soon?"

"Maybe for a holiday... but I'm pretty happy over here at the moment."

Harry nodded and had to remove her hand as she turned to hide her smile in her tea cup. "Good."

"Why, would you miss me?" he asked hopefully.

Harry managed to meet his eyes as she said, "Yes."


	26. s3 e06 Lymon

_Turns out I spelt Lyman/Lymon wrong last time._

* * *

3.06 Bird Of Prey

Lymon

Dempsey and Makepeace watched Lymon walking down the steps to the car. "Do you really believe he's coming back?" Harry asked.

"We have to. He's the best chance we've got of finding that kid alive - maybe the only chance."

Harry held his arm in an act of solidarity, so Dempsey resisted the urge to pace for as long as he could, even though the nervous energy made him feel as though he was bursting at the seams. In the end, though, he walked out of Harry's grip and paced in front of her, trying to imagine what Lymon would be doing.

"You shouldn't have told him we'd meet him here," Harry said.

"Why not?"

"We could have gone for a drink."

"C'mon, let's go wait by the car," Dempsey suggested, tugging Harry down the steps after him by the wrist.

"You can call in if he doesn't come back, I'm not doing it."

"He /will/ come back. I'm a hundred percent sure."

Harry raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well, ninety percent sure."

"Maybe we should have told him why we're looking for Eddie Dean."

"You know this guy. You really think that woulda helped? I mean, really?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose not."

"He's doing this 'cause he wants a pardon, not because it's helpful." Dempsey started pacing again.

"James, keep still," Harry said, holding his hand to stop him walking. They stood side-by-side and watched, waiting. Dempsey was like a concentrated bundle of energy and eventually he took to pacing once again. Harry stood still, folding her arms. Dempsey's constant movement was grating on her nerves.

When over an hour had passed, Harry wordlessly held out the radio. Dempsey took it irritably, and reported their lack of progress to Chas.


	27. s3 e07 Control

3.07 Out Of Darkness

**Control**

Spikings had had doubts about the dynamics of his most successful team for a while. He had never expected them to work so well in the first place, but Dempsey and Makepeace had gradually gelled into a relatively harmonious working relationship based on a fanatical work ethic - and possibly something else. He knew the two of them had had some problems around the time of that bank heist, when Harry had been put in hospital twice in the space of a week. At the time, Harry had asserted that she could not work with Dempsey any longer, though she later retracted the statement when Spikings asked if she was serious. And only a few weeks ago she had shown such staunch, unwavering loyalty in the face of accusations of violence against Dempsey by the psychologist. So that had reassured him of Harry's ability to continue in the partnership.

Dempsey's expressions of emotion were revealed more in his actions than in anything he said. But then, maybe Dempsey just wasn't telling Spikings. They had never quite seen eye-to-eye, and Spikings knew that Dempsey still saw him as a bit of a nuisance. The source of his jobs, but also a constant thorn in his side about the methods he used.

Yet when Dempsey offered to drive Harry home, and promised to call her the moment they heard anything about the Thriller Killer, Spikings knew that there was more than partner loyalty at play. As Dempsey watched Harry leave there was such naked concern in his eyes that Spikings was surprised. He half-expected Dempsey to follow her. Was that appropriate behaviour towards a colleague? Maybe it depended on the motivation for it. The one thing he had suspected for a while was that their relationship was not as simple, nor as shallow, as they would have had him believe.

* * *

As Dempsey untied her and helped her out of the van, Harry was consumed with what _he_ had done and what might have happened. Dempsey's explanation to the woman she knew was the killer's wife was short, curt, but she barely heard it as she looked up into the sky. She was just so glad to see the sky again.

Dempsey's hand was a warm pressure on her back. "I knew you'd be okay," he said, but the way his arm moved to encircle her shoulders and hold her close to him suggested otherwise. She pulled away from his embrace and put a few steps between them.

_'I'm not in shock.'_

_'Maybe not, but your body is, it's got more sense.'_

She was grateful that he knew not to say anything else as she tried to fit a man who would kill other women because his wife was unfaithful into her personal understanding of the universe. She hoped that one day it would make her fearless, because the worst had happened so now when a man walked behind her for one more street than was comfortable, or sat that glaring inch too close, or wolf-whistled in the corridor, it wouldn't matter. She could not face the idea that it would matter more.

It was hard to surrender even enough control to let him drive her home. Part of her was willing to walk the whole way home just to avoid losing that little piece of independence. After what had happened, she needed it.

Harry stared out of the window, her hands in her lap, shoulders hunched, closed in on herself. She did not hear Dempsey telling Spikings over the radio in no uncertain terms that Harry would not be going in to make her statement that night. When they arrived at her house, she got out of the car, pulled away from Dempsey's hand on her elbow and let herself in. She barely gave him the chance to enter the house before closing the door.

Dempsey watched Harry struggling, shutting him out. He wanted desperately to help her but knew that she was not ready.

Harry sat woodenly in the living room, reliving every moment of the ordeal, wondering if they could have saved the other women, had they been faster. Dempsey brought her a cup of tea. She took it to the window and poured it into a plant pot. Harry stood with her back to Dempsey, seeing her own pale, startled reflection in the dark glass. James was a fuzzy shape behind her.

Harry turned, crossed the room and made for the stairs. Looking up at her from the bottom of the stairs, Dempsey asked, "Do you want me to stay tonight?"

"I don't care," Harry replied coldly. She couldn't. Because if he left her she would curl into a ball on her living room carpet and not move for a week.

Harry pulled on a pair of pyjamas and crawled under the duvet, shivering. She left the light on but it hardly dented the darkness she felt. Long, tense tremors ran up and down her body. Exhausted, she tried to sleep, but failed. She propped herself up with pillows and sat staring into space, thinking about _his_ fingers touching her face, about the brown wig, about the chains digging into her wrists.

Hot, fat tears fell from Harry's eyes, though her breathing remained fairly steady. Hardly thinking, she threw the duvet aside and padded downstairs to where Dempsey was sitting in an armchair in front of the fire. He stood as she entered the room.

"I knew you'd find me," Harry said shakily, and clung to him desperately. Right then she needed his big, bear-hug embrace, the tranquillity the two of them created together. She needed the dark safety of his arms around her.

"I'll always find you," he promised, his words falling softly like spring rain, seeming to form part of their hug.

They held each other for a long time, until finally Harry let him guide her upstairs and help her into bed. He sat on the floor; she fell asleep holding his hand. In the morning, she nearly stood on him as she got up - he was lying flat-out on the floor next to her bed.

She woke him gently with a cup of tea. He sat up with a grimace, rubbing his neck. "Are you alright?" he asked immediately.

Harry forced a smile. "I will be."


	28. s3 e08 Partners

3.08 The Cortez Connection

**Partner**

"So Harry's your partner, right?" Simone asked after dinner.

"Yeah, she is," Dempsey replied.

"Partner in any other way?" she probed, though she suspected she would not like the answer. It was like picking at a scab; she knew it would hurt but she had to go through with it anyway.

"No," Dempsey replied firmly.

"You like her though, right?"

Dempsey took a drag of his cigarette, to keep his hands busy and give himself a moment to think. "Yeah, I do," he found himself admitting, and before he could stop himself he added, "A lot."

Simone felt cold on the inside. She got up and poured herself a vodka. She wasn't sure what she had expected when she came to England, but it wasn't this. She leant against the kitchen cupboard, glass in hand. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Dempsey said nothing, but he did not meet her eyes as he breathed in the cigarette smoke and that was answer enough for Simone. If nothing else in the way he had behaved towards her had told her, this confirmed that any chance of a relationship between them was gone. He had moved on, where she had stayed hung-up on him. Maybe now, though, she could let him go.

-:-

It was supposed to be a fun night out. Dempsey had been apprehensive about going out with Simone and Harry, but he convinced himself that it could work, that they could have fun. As he listened to Simone talk, though, he realised that she was painting a picture of another version of himself. An older version, a version skewed by Simone's perception of him. In her words, he sounded crass and immature, and although Dempsey knew he could be both of those things at times he also knew that he had matured a lot in the last couple of years. He did not like Harry to hear Simone's version of him.

As Simone grew drunker, her stories grew ever-wilder. Harry seemed to be enjoying the stories from his past, but he did not want her laughing at him and tried to explain or excuse his behaviour in them. Later, he tried to stop Simone from telling them.

"Dempsey, you should settle down. I could see you two, ya know?"

Dempsey's eyes immediately slid to Harry, to check her reaction.

Harry's eyes were also drawn immediately to Dempsey. Her heart started pounding. If Simone had picked up on something between them, then maybe... Maybe nothing. Simone was drunk, she could not believe Dempsey felt anything other than friendship towards her and they were not allowed to form relationships within their department anyway.

Despite that, both Harry and Dempsey rather liked the sound of the scene Simone described.

As Harry picked up Simone's knocked-over glass, Dempsey found that he was profoundly embarrassed, both for and of Simone. He was almost ashamed for Harry to see the person he had once been, and the person he had once been with.

As always, he tried to take care of Simone, but as always she did not want his help. Their relationship may not have worked out, but he could not help but want the best for her, no matter how fruitless and draining that was. Dempsey kept smoking and tried not to let it bother him.

-:-

Though Simone had said, "It looks better on you!" as she gave Harry her present, what she really meant was, "He looks better with you." She had never seen two people who fitted together better than these two. She deplored it, and she resented it, but she could not deny it and would never have tried to get in their way.

As Simone was driven away, Dempsey walked up behind Harry and put an arm around her waist.

_'You're in love with her, aren't you?'_

"What did she give you?" Dempsey asked.

Harry showed him the top that Simone had given her. "It's what she leant me to wear last night," she reminded him.

"How could I forget? You looked amazing."

Harry felt herself blushing, and berated herself for letting his words affect her.

"Do you wanna come in?" Dempsey said, finally asking the question he had started before Simone arrived.

"I thought you wanted to get some sleep," Harry reminded him.

"Sleep's overrated. I'd rather spend the evening with you."

They went inside together; Dempsey left his arm around Harry's waist until the practicalities of getting through doorways interfered.

"How 'bout a movie?" Dempsey suggested.

"Okay," Harry agreed. It hurt that Simone's words seemed to have taken away some of the ease of their relationship. She felt awkward and self-conscious, praying she was not giving herself away. Simone had said that he was fond of Harry. Fond of her how?

Dempsey rooted through his videos and found an action film; he held it up and Harry nodded her approval. As the tape wound through the adverts, he switched on a lamp, turned off the main light and brought a bag of popcorn through from the kitchen.

"Here's to stayin' in," he said, holding up the popcorn bag in a mock toast.

He sat down on the other side of the sofa, and neither of them was sure how they managed to end up pressed up against each other with Dempsey's arm around Harry's shoulders by the end of the film.


	29. s3 e09 Serious

3.09 Mantrap

**Serious**

Dempsey and Makepeace had worked together to catch Powell. Dempsey volunteered as decoy to protect Harry; he could not face the idea of sending her into danger unnecessarily. After they had taken Spikings to arrest Powell and the wedding photographer had taken their photo, Harry and Dempsey put their champagne glasses on the ground. Dempsey turned to look at Harry. "Can't tell you how much I wanna kiss you right now," he said quietly.

Harry searched his face. "Are you serious, James?" she asked, because he flirted a lot, and was never sincere, but there was something in his voice that sounded different this time.

"O' course I'm serious, have you seen you?"

Harry hesitated, but before she could think herself out of it she placed her hands on Dempsey's shoulders, feeling the bump of his gun holster under his denim jacket as she slid her hands up to his neck, and kissed him. It was soft, and tentative, both hardly able to believe it was happening. Their lips met, and parted, and met again, echoing that first contact. Dempsey's teeth skimmed across Harry's bottom lip, his hands held her waist. They parted and rested their foreheads against each other. Dempsey gave a breathy laugh. "Wow, Harry."

But Harry's brain had overtaken her heart. "No, we can't."

It felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his world, leaving him stranded. Dempsey stood straight, their foreheads losing contact. "But..."

"No, I...You never mean it and we... Just leave it," Harry stammered, and dashed out of the room.

Dempsey watched her go, speechless. He had been so close to everything he wanted, and it had been snatched away from his grasping hands.

"Harry..."


	30. s3 e10 The Right Thing

_I just want to say thank you again to everyone for every review they have given me. It was such an encouragement to keep going and it's so lovely of you to leave me such fantastic comments._

_I think I've written all I can for this programme, at least for a while. After the success of this month, I've decided to challenge myself to write an original ficlet every day in February. So I'll still be writing, but unless I'm struck with something amazing I won't be writing for D&M for the foreseeable future. I will, of course, continue to read other people's fics._

_Without further ado, here is the final part of my January challenge!_

* * *

3.10 Guardian Angel

**The Right Thing**

When Harry finally confided in him the reason for her melancholic mood and her fears for his life, Dempsey tried to make her feel better. He wanted to help her, but she froze him out just as she had after the incident with the Thriller Killer. He had a feeling he had said the wrong thing, but did not know how else he could respond. He could not promise to live forever, nobody could. Life was a constant stream of beating the odds, until one day you didn't beat the odds, and got carried away in an ambulance.

* * *

He tried to tempt her back to work with news of the case, telling her all about his new lead and Daish. He did not know how else to ask her. He dare not tell her he missed her. He dare not tell her he hated working without her. It was like she was running away; only days ago she had kissed him - a kiss he had re-lived many times since then - but now she seemed to hate him.

He only realised how wrong he had got it when Harry said, "You come here. You don't ask me what I'm doing. You don't ask me how I'm doing, because you don't care how I'm doing. All you care about is Daish, and when you've got him it'll be someone else. Well I'm bored with the Daishes of this world. And I'm bored with you." What she really meant was, I'm disappointed in you, but she could not say it. It was unfair to voice a disappointment in something he had never promised to do; never promised to be.

Dempsey stared at her, horrified. Of course he cared how she was! He just wanted Harry to come back.

"In fact, I never want to see you again. So will you please go?" Harry regretted the words the moment they passed her lips, but she could not see Dempsey die. She had to leave the police; he had to leave the museum; she had to stop seeing him. It would only make things harder if he stuck around.

Dempsey looked crushed. It seemed that he might say something, but then he turned and walked away. Harry watched him leave, wanting more than anything to run after him and beg him not to go. She could taste the ghost of his lips on hers, almost feel his strong shoulders under her fingers. But she had only her imagination for company as Dempsey left the museum.

* * *

When Dempsey smiled at Harry sitting opposite him in the pub, he knew she was there for _him_. Because he asked her to. Because he had told her something of how he felt. The words _'I need you' _seemed to resonate between them. And strangely, the idea of saying it a second time seemed a lot less daunting. It made it easier, that afternoon, to have a certain conversation.

"I've made a decision too."

"Yeah? What about?"

"I'm resigning also."

"Whatever for?"

"You think I like workin' in this dump without..."

Harry thought she knew what he had been about to say - but she needed to hear the words, needed to be sure. "Without what?"

Dempsey struggled with himself, torn between needing to say what was on his mind and not wanting to appear foolish. "Without you," he said at last, and Harry's smile told him that he had said the right thing.

Chas continued to call them over the radio. Dempsey watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry leant nonchalantly on the car, then picked up the radio. When she responded to the call, Dempsey could not contain his grin, and it seemed to spread through his entire body.

"Good to have you back, partner."

Harry held her hand out over the top of the car door, and they shook, a wordless pact.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set on a long day by the time Harry and Dempsey entered Harry's house. There was a chill in the air, which they shut out and drove away with the fire.

"Why don't we get a Chinese?" Harry suggested. She wondered if anything between them would change now. James was still acting the same, but she felt nervous and on-edge in a way she almost never had with him. The ease of his company had diminished. She did not know what had possessed her to kiss him; it could only cause problems. And yet, she could not say that she wholly regretted it.

"Only if we use a different place to last time; their rice was disgusting."

Harry handed him the phone. "Here, you order, I'll go and open some wine."

"What do you want?"

"You choose - you know what I like," she replied, on her way to the kitchen. She loved that that was the case. After picking up a bottle of wine and two glasses, Harry returned to the living room, which was lit by the flickering flames.

"They're bringin' it round in half an hour," Dempsey said from where he was sitting in the corner of the sofa. "I tell you, it'd be quicker to order it from New York. What takes 'em so long?"

"Maybe they actually cook their food rather than microwaving it from the freezer," Harry suggested as she sat down. "What shall we drink to?" she asked when they each held a glass of wine.

Dempsey tipped his head to the side and smiled. "Us." They clinked their glasses together and drank. Dempsey stared into his glass, tapping it with a fingernail. "Spikings reckons you don't know I care about you," he said. "He says that's why you left."

"Oh yes? And what else does Spikings say?" Harry asked, embarrassed that her reasoning had been so obvious to her boss.

When Dempsey spoke, his voice was very quiet, almost lost in the dim light. "He says you care about me... As in, _care_."

Harry gazed at the floor. She could hardly confirm what Spikings had said, but she was tired of lying.

Dempsey moved to try to catch Harry's eye. He was damned if he was going to waste the courage it had taken him to raise the topic in the first place. "Does that mean you do?"

Still Harry's words were stuck in her throat.

"You know, if we talked to each other more, I mean really talked, we might get somewhere," Dempsey suggested.

"It's not allowed."

"C'mon, Harry, most of the office thinks we're together anyway, who's gonna know? Who's gonna _care_?"

"James, we can't..." Harry forced out, every fibre in her body against her. "There are reasons for the rules against relationships in the department. People can't concentrate, they lose their objectivity, and what if the couple broke up?"

"What, and you think this is better?" Dempsey asked, his voice rising in agitation as his hands lifted in exasperation. "Both of us constantly terrified that one of us is gonna die without us ever -" He broke off, the well of potential missed opportunities too many and too painful to voice. He had the disturbing feeling of standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down at the ground so far away it made him dizzy; it felt as though this was his last chance. In case he ruined things forever, he drank in Harry's every freckle and pore with his eyes, before saying quietly, "Harry, I think I'm in love with you." Harry raised startled eyes to his face. "If you honestly don't feel anything but friendship for me then fine, I can deal with that." At least, he hoped he could. "But you kissed me. And if there's somethin'. I think we should give it a chance."

At Harry's continued silence, Dempsey's surety vanished. When she eventually opened her mouth to speak, the doorbell interrupted. Thinking to spare her the embarrassment of rejecting him, and himself the mortification, Dempsey stood up and went to collect their takeaway. He accepted the bag of containers and handed over a note before returning to the living room, his heart in his boots. He hadn't got her so wrong, had he? Surely it was her natural inclination to follow the rules, not a lack of feeling on her part that made her reject him? Dempsey put the carrier bag on the coffee table as his world collapsed around his ears.

"Okay."

He looked at Harry, hardly daring to hope. "What?"

"Okay, let's give us a chance." Harry's eyes were wide.

A slow smile spread across Dempsey's face. "You mean that?" he checked.

Harry's face relaxed into a small smile. She could not believe this was happening. After all her fears and doubts, after all the worry over the rules, all it took was 'so what?'. "Maybe I should convince you," she said playfully, standing. She wrapped her arms around Dempsey's neck and they kissed, slowly, passionately, hearts racing in unison.


End file.
